


Hues of You

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Comfort/Angst, Love/Hate, M/M, Soulmates, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:32:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3557945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happened during the World Junior game against Canada. </p>
<p>Patrick didn't see anyone through the glass, but instead on the opposing team's bench.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> From a collection of soulmate AU's on Tumblr: “Where you can only see the world in black and white until you see your soulmate in person.”
> 
> Something I've been slaving arduously over (lol jk) but still I worked kinda hard on this and yeah! Hope you enjoy! :)

Patrick had been accustomed to a plain world. His mother had always told him that he would see the world like she did one day: in brilliant shades of color. Patrick didn't know what _color_ was. Like a lot of people who hadn't found their person, he could only recognize darker shades of black or lighter shades of white. Things were simple. But even though he had been told not to worry, being 17 and still not being able to see things like some of his friends and family annoyed him. It wasn't even the aspect of meeting his soulmate, it was how he felt like he was still being viewed as a baby, a child, and he saw himself as being _unworthy_ of love.

 

Patrick lived each day with the hope of finally being exposed to the new world of bright colors. Each time he went to practice at the rink with his junior hockey team, he would glance at every girl he passed on the streets, hoping that one might hold the key to unlocking his happiness. All of his teammates had already had the pleasure of this happening.

 

“What's it like, when it happens?” He remembered asking them after practice one day.

 

“It happens slowly, like someone is pouring the color like water.”

 

“It's weird. You don't really notice at first, but it hits you pretty hard when you do.”

 

“My person went to my school. She rejected me though, now I can't see the color anymore...”

 

With all these accounts, Patrick formed some glorified story in his mind about how and when and where it would happen. He assumed it would be at hockey, since he spent literally all of his time there at the rink anyway. He would be looking through the crowd during a game, and she'd be sitting front row, hands up on the glass, face bright, because she'd already have seen him, and realized he was the one. And Patrick would stop for a moment to admire her, color would flood his vision, and the ref might blow the whistle or usher him on and wonder what had happened. After the game, they'd meet, and the rest would be history. He was a sucker for romantic shit like that.

 

Patrick had problems with daydreaming. Throughout the weeks to come, he'd formulate a plan: what would he say? Would he hug her? Kiss her? What if she was ugly as hell? Would he reject her and go back to living in a colorless world? He went through every meticulous detail, and his friends noticed how recluse he had become, questioning his obsession over some girl that didn't exist to him yet. But he ignored them fully, because they had all found their person. He just needed his.

–

 

It happened during the World Junior semi-final game against Canada. Patrick didn't see anyone through the glass, but instead on the opposing team's bench.

 

When the game was preparing for a shootout after being tied 1-1 after the 3rd period, Patrick had been adjusting his equipment under his jersey when he took an absentminded glance towards Canada's bench. His eyes nonchalantly scanned over each one of their players, and the number 29 caught his eyes. _Toews._ Patrick knew very well who he was. Jonathan Toews of the Chicago Blackhawks, one of the most talented forwards entering the NHL, and the 3rd overall pick in last year's draft. Patrick did not expect, however, to see the guy staring back at him, some sort of giddy expression on his face. It was then that Patrick realized what was happening.

 

Colors started seeping into his vision, and he couldn't tear his eyes from Toews' face. A weird feeling was growing in the pit of Patrick's stomach. He didn't feel happy, though the daydreams he had had all throughout his life had always suggested he would. No, unlike Toews, who was sending him a small, shy smirk from the opposing bench, Patrick was not feeling grateful, or joyous, or anything other than  _what the actual fuck._ He almost passed out right there on the bench.

 

He couldn't concentrate when the shootout commenced, or when he tried to get the puck past Carey Price. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that someone he wasn't necessarily supposed to like was apparently someone he had to learn to love at some point. Patrick was distracted in the locker room after the game, which they had lost after Toews' goal on the shootout that won it for Canada, because they had made eye contact in the handshake line. Jonathan held onto him for a second longer than everyone else he had talked to, and Patrick had looked away when he tried to initiate some sort of small conversation on the ice. Things were now in color, but Patrick didn't want it to happen this way. Never had he imagined the possibility of his soulmate being the youngest Chicago Blackhawk, the new face of the franchise, the Canadian dreamboat, Jonathan _fucking_ Toews.

 

And yet, when Patrick fell asleep in his hotel room that night, he couldn't help but smile, because now he knew he was worth some weird kind of love. Even if he'd never call himself gay for a guy.

 

-

 

Patrick was drafted that summer in July. 1st overall pick, and chosen by Chicago. Of course, he had anticipated the chances of going to the Blackhawks, and when his name was called, he had to force himself to be happy like his family and friends seated around him. When he slid the new jersey over his dress shirt and posed for a picture up on the stage, he smiled, completely aware of the fact that he could not escape the kid that allowed him to see the bold reds and yellows and beiges and greens that now covered his upper body.

 

He met Jonathan Toews formally at training camp right before preseason started. They were assigned stalls right next to each other. Of course. Patrick tried his hardest to avoid any contact with the guy, but it was kind of hard when Toews started shoving his new-found disdain for him down his throat before practices. And then one day, Patrick decided to start up a little “conversation” as he was undressing after a particularly annoying drill day.

 

“Hey Toews, there a reason you always have that murderous look on your face whenever you see me?” Patrick chirped at Jonathan, who was untying his skates.

 

“Yeah.” He replied, not looking over, but with an obvious poison in his tone. “”Cause you're an asshole.” Patrick shrugged. _Fair enough_.

 

Patrick started to speak but Jonathan held a hand up and interrupted him. He looked up from what he was doing and scowled. In a quieter voice, he added, “You'd think someone might have the fucking _decency_ to give a shit about their fucking soulmate, Kane. Apparantly not.”

 

Patrick frowned, wrinkling his brows in frustration. It's not like he didn't _want_ to give a shit about his person, its just that Patrick was not fucking gay. He had always liked girls. Females. Boobs. And now that he knew Jonathan was his soulmate, he didn't want anything to do with it, because how could he have been wrong about his own identity his whole life? Patrick did not like to be wrong. Especially about himself.

 

“Well, have you always known _you_ were gay, then?” Patrick spat back.

 

Jonathan shook his head, stood, and placed his skates up on the shelf above him. “I had no idea. I thought I was normal, up until World Juniors.” He looked hurt at Patrick's words, and Patrick felt almost... regretful at what he had said. Nevertheless, he realized that neither of them saw themselves liking each other anytime in the near future, and he would just have to let it go until some sort of reconciliation occurred. It was either that, or they would have to reject each other outwardly, and go back to living in such a gray world. Patrick wasn't sure he was ready to give up all the wonderful things he'd been experiencing since the world became colorful, and he could make the assumption Toews felt the same.

 

 _Oh well_ , he thought, _I'm stuck with this uptight clown for now. Might as well make the best of it._

 

–

 

Coach had inquired as to why the two of them seemed to dislike each other so much. Right before the season began, they were placed on the same line, because “how do you two expect to bring this sport back to this city if you keep up this petty schoolgirl shit?” Patrick somewhat agreed with that, although him and Jonathan still steered clear of each other anywhere that wasn't the ice.

 

Coach's plan worked, though. The first game they played, they worked well together. Like a well-oiled machine, anytime Patrick would pass blindly behind him or to his side, there would be number 19, accepting the puck graciously. When Jonathan attempted his first shot on goal, Patrick saw the puck fly into the back of the net, and he hopped a little off the ice, with some feeling of satisfaction. Jonathan pulled him into a hug along the boards, perhaps not realizing who he was, and then came Seabs from behind, eliminating any tension between himself and Jonathan. Despite the loss that amounted from a 3rd period goal by the Sharks, the feeling in the locker room afterward wasn't discouraged.

Jonathan was being congratulated by everyone around the room, and when he finally sat down in his stall, Patrick exchanged a timid smile with him. He held his fist out, and Jonathan bumped it. “Good job tonight, Jonny,” said Patrick, moving to untie his skates. Jonathan laughed shakily, the adrenaline obviously still making its way steadily through his veins. “Thanks Kaner. Nice passes out there.” Patrick grinned stupidly, then adjusted himself back into ignoring Toews' existence. He still felt extremely awkward just _talking_ to him.

 

The summer after the season ended, Patrick went back home to Buffalo. He talked to his younger sisters about what the world was like for him in color. They hadn't been granted it yet; Patrick made them swear to tell him when it happened for each of them, because he'd need to have a _strong_ talking-to with whoever would cause it.

 

He left out the details of who his soulmate was supposed to be. He did not mention to his mother or father the excruciating pain of not feeling normal. He could not stomach the idea that him and Jonathan would ever like each other. And so, it was over the summer that Patrick headed to the local library to do some research.

 

He sat at a round table in the corner of the library. In front of him were numerous books and pamphlets on the science of soulmates, what it meant, and how to deal with abnormal cases (which, as opposed to Patrick's thinking, did _not_ include homosexual relationships).

 

“Meeting a soulmate is usually not rare...85% chance it happens within the first 25 years of life...half-and-half chance of it being the same gender...” Patrick skimmed through paragraphs of useless information that reaffirmed his ignorance in the whole business. He rubbed his face in his hands. This was ridiculous. He shouldn't be caring about some dumbass dude that obviously gave more of a shit about him than he did. Or should he? He finally succumbed and asked his mom for advice.

 

“What if I can't stand my soulmate?”

 

“Well honey,” she said, “usually people learn to work through it. You're soulmates for a reason, no?”

 

“Yeah, I guess, but...” he figured in his head how to phrase his next sentence, “Okay, it's a guy. My soulmate's a guy. And I'm not... y'know...” Patrick's face flushed red, and he looked down.

 

“Oh, Patty, that doesn't matter. Besides, it doesn't _have_ to be romantic. Your father and I were good friends for _years_ before we decided to get married and start a family! Just get to know the guy! Who knows? Maybe you'll end up being best friends.”

 

Patrick sighed. _Damn, she was always right._

 

–

 

The team would frequently go out and have dinner together. Usual topics of conversation drifted, from how each of them played that night to personal stuff, like how their families were, kids, stuff like that. Patrick was the rowdy one of the group, considering he was the youngest of all the guys. He'd crack jokes with Sharpy, and place bets on girls he thought he could get numbers from. It was always a good time. Patrick noticed, however, every time they frequented bars or crowded places, Jonathan would shrink from the dutiful player he knew on-ice, to a smaller, quieter, I-don't-want-to-be-here kind of guy. It _bothered_ him. What kind of person doesn't like to have fun? When Patrick was guzzling alcohol (which, by the way, was totally illegal for a newly 19 year old to be doing, _god bless older teammates_ ), he would see Jonathan sitting at the table, sipping water through a straw. One night, he remembers hollering across the bar to one of the waitresses, a hot brunette with a _killer_ rack, and asking her to cheer Jonny up. Jonny got up and walked right out of the building.

 

Patrick followed him, a little sluggish on his feet, probably because he was just now feeling more than a little tipsy. He threw open the door to the bar and stumbled out onto the sidewalk, where he saw Jonathan walking to his car parked on the side of the busy city street.

 

“Hey! Jonny! What're you _doing_ , man?”

 

“Leave me the fuck alone.” Jonathan commanded, shakily pulling out his car keys from the pocket of his pants. Patrick ran over and shoved himself between Jonny and the driver's side door. “Listen to me, Jon. Why don't you have fun with us? Aren't we your friends? Your _team_?”

 

Jonathan pushed Patrick away forcefully, almost enough to knock him to the curb. “Yeah, Patrick. _Those_ guys are my friends. _Those_ guys I can tolerate. What I can't tolerate,” he paused, opening the car door and leaning against the frame and turning to face Patrick, “are stupid douchebags like you that get wasted for the hell of it, or harass women for no reason other than to feel big and strong. I can't stand you when you're like this.” Patrick gazed right through the guy standing in front of him. There was a hurt so clear in his eyes that he himself felt it tug at his gut.

 

“I...I'm sorry.”

 

“Sorry?” Jonathan gave Patrick a pathetic laugh. “Why are you apologizing to _me_?”

 

“Well if all you see me as is a jerk, I'm sorry. I don't want to be a jerk. I'm just enjoying myself, and it tends to get out of hand sometimes...” Patrick trailed off.

 

Jonathan sighed. He shook his head. “Why am I stuck with you?” He murmured.

 

Patrick grimaced. _Damn. Harsh. “_ I can shape up if it bothers you so much.”

 

“I'd _pay_ to see that, Kane.”

 

“Hey, shut the fuck up. Maybe I can try hard, maybe we could be friends. We obviously can't get rid of each other, and it doesn't help that you criticize everything I do. You're not perfect, either, Toews.”

 

Jonathan smirked ruefully. “Yeah, I got that. I'm not an idiot.” A moment of silence ensued. Patrick wondered if the guys back in the bar were curious about where he had gone and what was taking so long.

 

“Well, Patrick, I believe I'm done here. Have fun with the guys. And thanks for attempting...er, something. Whatever this was.” Jonathan slid into his car. Patrick stepped away as he slammed the door, and then he was gone.

 

“Fuckin' _great_ ,” he groaned, sinking down to sit on the edge of the curb.

 

Patrick would get Jonathan to like him. He would shape up, stop partying like a dumb kid, whatever it took. He didn't want to be known as the guy that botched his own career before it had barely even started.

 

Most of all, he didn't want Jonny to reject him. Patrick couldn't accept defeat like that.

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never wanted another person sleeping in the bed beside his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, chapter 2! hope you enjoy :) let me know what you think! aha

Jonathan's hands roamed Patrick's back like it was the only thing he knew. Patrick was pressed up against his kitchen counter. He couldn't see Jonny's face clearly, but the sweet nothings being whispered in his ear were easily recognizable as his. Patrick knew Jonny's voice: deep, throaty, the occasional crack that made him giggle. Kisses were being pressed against the side of his head, and Patrick felt helpless, legs shaking against his counterparts force. He felt one of Jonny's hands move lower...

 

Patrick sat arrow-straight up in bed, covered in sweat. “Holy fuck,” he wheezed, catching his breath. The sheets around his lower half tented slightly. Patrick groaned. This had been happening often. Too often for Patrick to handle. Wet dreams about _Jonny_ of all people were very discomforting to him. Yet... oddly intriguing. “No, shut the fuck up,” he retorted to himself.

 

Patrick rolled onto his side and checked his phone sitting on the nightstand next to his bed. 8:03 A.M. That meant he had probably a good hour before he had to be down at the airport with the team. They had a game tonight in Dallas. Feeling frustrated enough as it was, Patrick concluded that he did _not_ have enough time to jerk off and get rid of his weird boner, but instead to use his time and take a quick shower before the 3 hour flight.

 

By the time he was on the plane sitting next to Sharpy, Patrick was ready to pass out from exhaustion. He hadn't had time to grab his usual coffee from the cafe near his apartment complex. Sharpy noticed.

 

“Hey, Kaner, get your beauty sleep last night?” He ruffled Patrick's hair, sending some short curls askew.

 

“Fuck off Sharpy,” he mumbled back. Patrick rested his head against the plane window. His eyes were closed until he heard Jonny's voice from the aisle.

 

“Pat, I gotcha a little somethin',” he said. Patrick looked up to see Jonny, wearing basketball shorts and a shirt with the sleeves cut off, in all his stupid glory, holding a tumbler out to him.

 

“How'd you know?” Jonny smiled devilishly.

 

“I saw you walk straight into the glass door in the airport. That'll make a funny picture for the press, eh?”

 

“Yeah, shut up you big oaf.”

 

Patrick took the tumbler gratefully, gulped down a few sips of the hot black coffee (just the way he liked it), and reclined back in his seat.

 

Patrick had taken his mom's advice, in a way. No longer did he drink as much as he used to. He didn't catcall random waitresses, nor did he get into anymore incidents with innocent cabdrivers. Jeeze, Jonny had almost _killed_ him when he heard that. Patrick was proud of himself now. Another season had started; he considered this a time to improve who he was, who he knew he could be, and who would impress Jonny. He considered them better friends now. Funny to say, knowing how he thought of the guy when they had first met. Although he wasn't exactly completely comfortable with the fact that Jonathan was his _soulmate._ God, just knowing that made Patrick uneasy. He didn't want to think of what would happen if they were outed to the team, or what media would blow up from it all. Patrick tried not to look so natural around Jonny, but sometimes, he couldn't _help_ it. They just fit. “The new faces of Chicago,” as they were called. They did everything together. Media, team promotion, contracts, whatever it was, they did it as one. 

 

And Patrick was grateful.

 

Grateful for his mom's initial advice, grateful for Jonny and how he gave him second chance after second chance after second chance. He was grateful for the moment their eyes had met and everything transformed from boring to slightly more enjoyable yet still kind of awkward. But he was grateful for the awkwardness, too. Every friendship has the awkward phase. Theirs tended to be when Patrick accidentally forgot his wallet at Jonny's apartment, and he had walked in to find a very naked Jonny singing Elton John into a hairbrush. Or, when Jonny had to practically drag Patrick to his car one night after almost knocking a Detroit fan out at a local bar, and Patrick, on the way home, had drunkenly confessed that he would love to be “on top of Jonny like bark on a tree.” He never heard the end of  _that_ one in the locker room for the weeks that followed.

 

But lately, Patrick had enjoyed the banter. He relished in feeling  _liked_ for once. All his life, he had never been very popular, probably because everyone saw him as weak. He would be used to hiding in his room while his friends went out to play street hockey, and yeah, sometimes he would cry. Now, he had a whole city on his shoulders. No,  _more_ than a city. He and Jonny had reignited some old fire within fans all over the place. He had always been so caught up in how great his rookie seasons had been going that he forgot he had someone to help him hold the weight of the world up. It wasn't anyone's fault the universe had designated Jonny to him, but Patrick was lucky that the kid could actually be agreeable some days, or that Jonny cared about him both on and off the ice. Patrick was beyond in debt for the first friendship that made him feel noble about where he was going.

 

Granted, Patrick never expressed it.

 

Patrick was hardly one to  _ever_ express feelings. It was almost a little short of painful. The closest he ever got to showing emotion with Jonny was a quick side-hug in the locker room after he had received the belt after a game-winning goal in overtime. Jonny, however, took every opportunity to let Patrick know. Whether it be by telling him to buckle up when he drove him to practice certain days, or by coaxing him out of his moodiness when he felt he was doing shitty during games. Patrick could tell Jonny loved him. He had never heard the word come from his mouth, but he knew. It was in the way he talked, the way he stood, facing him in crowds of people, or the way he had actually gone out of his way to get him  _coffee._

 

And Patrick, quite frankly, felt shitty about the whole ordeal. He couldn't make himself love Jonny back. By breaking Jonny's heart, he broke himself. All he wanted to be was loved, and when someone finally sees past the outward frat-boy-douchebag appearance and delves deep into the real him, he can't feel the same. Patrick tries so fucking hard in everything, and usually he succeeds. Not in this way. Never could he see himself winning here.

 

 

The team got to Dallas and suited up for a practice skate. Coming off of a 3-game win streak, they all could say that they were feeling pretty confident. On the ice that morning though, Patrick was missing passes left and right, and Coach Q was yelling at him, telling him to pick up the pace, or get the puck on the tape. Jonny seemed to notice.

 

“Kaner, what the fuck's the problem?” Patrick glided past him and leaned up against the glass. Jonathan had him cornered.

 

“I don't know, honestly,” Patrick replied, exasperated. He couldn't catch a break today.

 

“Well, whatever it is, shake it the hell off. We got a big game ahead of us. Do you wanna make it 4 games or not?” Jonny prodded his leg with his stick. Patrick met his eyes and sighed. He nodded, defeated. Jonny looked concerned. He didn't want him to be worrying about him. He was just in a slump, nothing life-threatening.

 

Jonny skated off, and Patrick was knocked from his thoughts by Coach's booming voice telling him to “get fuckin' moving.”

 

-

 

Chicago lost the game, and Patrick wanted nothing more than to be back home in his bed, curled up asleep.

 

He had scored twice, both times assisted by Jonny, but Jonny, God help him, was not happy in the _slightest._

 

Patrick was terrified when they got back to the hotel that night.

 

Jonny, upon entering the room they shared, kicked over the trash can by the doorway, and threw his bags at the small chair in the corner, promptly knocking it on its side.

 

“Jon, you should--”

 

Jonathan brushed past him, practically pushing him onto the neatly made bed. He went into the bathroom and pushed the door closed, locking it behind him. He knew to leave him alone. Jonny was blaming himself, as usual. Patrick didn't understand him when he was like this, mostly because  _he_ would be happy if he had assisted on two goals in a game. But Jonny, oh boy, when they lost, he was the one who felt it. He was one of the youngest captains in the league now, having been appointed only last season, and Patrick knew how stressed out he could be when things like this happened.

 

He remembers the first time he tried to intervene. It ended with a bloody nose on his part and bruised knuckles for Jonny.

 

Patrick undressed quietly, and slipped on a pair of comfortable basketball shorts before climbing into bed. He switched on the TV to drown out the sound of Jonny in the bathroom, splashing his face with water, it seemed. Some stupid cooking show was on. For a moment, Patrick was enthralled with the woman on the screen who was making some sort of chicken dish, and suddenly he heard a thud in the bathroom.

 

Before he could get up, however, he heard Jonny's voice call, “It's nothing.” So Patrick stayed put. Out from the bathroom came a very frazzled-looking Jonny, sucking his thumb.

 

“You okay there?” 

 

“Yeah, I just... cut my finger. Dropped the razor,” replied Jonathan quietly. Patrick watched him as he pulled off his t-shirt. His body still shone with sweat. Jonathan then dropped to the floor and began his “losing ritual” as the team liked to put it.

 

“Jonny, why do you take it so personal?” 

 

“Take...what...personal?” Jonathan grunted in reply.

 

“Losing. You played great. It was just a lucky goal on their part.”

 

Patrick waited for Jonny's answer. His pushups grew more furious in speed.

 

“Toews. Look at me.”

 

Jonny stopped, and pulled himself to a sitting position on the floor. He looked up at Patrick, who had moved out from the covers to sit on the edge of the bed.

 

There were tears. That was new.

 

“I'm just not good enough for you guys. I had so many chances tonight and I blew it!” His voice rose, cracking. “I'm supposed to be an example! How do you do it? You make it look so easy. You should be the one wearing that C, Pat. I don't deserve it.”

 

“No, Jon. Shut the fuck up. You deserve it more than anyone who's ever worn it. Only you could be leading us so well that losses turn you into...” Patrick gestured towards him, moving his hand up and down, “...this mess. It hurts us to see you like this, buddy. It's not your fault. It's all of us, and even then, not even, because it was a shitty call to get them that powerplay in the first place.”

 

Jonathan smiled weakly, and Patrick slid off the bed to sit on the floor next to him.

 

“I just... I see players like you, and it makes me want to be better, y'know?”

 

Jonathan nodded shyly, looking at the floor. “Shut up, Kaner. You've got the smoothest hands in the NHL,” he admitted.

 

Patrick let out a laugh, and slapped a hand on Jonny's back. He let it linger for a moment, awkwardly dropping it down when he saw Jonny  _blushing._ Ah, fuck.

 

“Look, don't punch me in the face for this, but you've really gotta stop being so hard on yourself. Remember that time you told me to shape up?” Jonathan nodded, chuckling. “Now's your turn. I don't wanna see you like this. It's not _you._ ”

 

Patrick stood up and got back into bed, Jonathan doing the same. He wiped his forehead, and ran a hand through his damp hair. Jonathan reached over and switched the lamp off. The TV was still going when Patrick heard Jonny snoring.

 

He looked over in the darkness. Jonny's back faced him.

 

Patrick shut the TV off after a while, and just laid there, staring at the ceiling. Jonny's snoring had subsided a bit, to quiet, steady breathing and the occasional shift in placement.

 

A pang of... something twitched in Patrick's chest. Love? No. Affection? Probably.

 

“Thank you Jonny.” He whispered. And suddenly, something came over him. He wanted nothing more than to feel Jonny's skin under his fingertips, to ruffle Jonny's already wild hair. He wanted to know he was there. He needed some type of _reassurance,_ would he always be there, like he was now? He never wanted another person sleeping in the bed beside his.

 

Patrick pushed all of this into the back of his mind and tried to fall asleep, his last thought to himself being indifference to the same dream he'd had the night before.

 


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could never be too small, too insignificant, too weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter of something that should have only been 1

As the season progressed, so did Jonny and Patrick's friendship.

 

At first, Patrick had found it awkward to sit and have conversations with him about things that weren't sports. Jonny usually didn't pry him open too far, but it was obvious how much of an effort he was making to try and get to know him on some different level. Patrick fought him initially, but after weeks of consideration and sessions with a team therapist, he decided it wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth his time to deny what Jonny wanted, which was  _just_ a friendship for now.

 

It turned into something he never would've imagined.

 

“How about this place? Right by the lake?”

 

Jonny had his phone held up so Patrick could see it. A picture of a very nice looking complex was up on the screen, and in the background, a striking view of Lake Michigan when the sun was just resting on its horizon. He shrugged.

 

“I dunno. How's the rent?”

 

“Just under 3,000 a month. Nothing we can't handle.”

 

“Hmm. Save it, just in case.”

 

The two were sitting on the couches in Jonny's living room. Currently, they both lived in pretty worn-down, shabby little places, and Patrick had been the one to suggest sharing a nicer apartment closer to the shiny parts of downtown Chicago. Jonny, obviously, had jumped at the chance. He had started looking soon after, and they had narrowed it down to three places, all right by the shore of the lake. Luckily, they made enough to afford such a luxury, something neither of them had ever been used to.

 

Jonny set down his phone and leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head.

 

“Can I tell you something?”

 

Patrick responded, not glancing up from his own phone.

 

“Huh.”

 

“I'm glad you haven't... rejected me.”

 

Patrick brought his eyes up slowly, matching Jonathan's gaze. Without waiting for him to respond, he continued, “It means so much, and I don't think you've realized.”

 

Patrick was about to interject, but Jonny held a hand up. “Let me finish.”

 

“When I saw you those couple of years ago, I got really freaked out. At first, I was happy, you know, you saw my face. I couldn't stop smiling, it was such a new feeling. And then, seeing you look back, _disgusted_ , in a way, I felt hopeless. I didn't think you'd ever give me a chance. And now look at us. Planning to live together.” Jonny's eyes were alight with joy. Patrick smiled briefly, letting him ramble on.

 

“You're probably one of my best friends now, Pat. I didn't think I could trust you when I first met you—seeing as you were definitely an asshole—and now I can't see myself living without you.”

 

“Jeeze, Jon, that's...wow, thanks. I feel the same...I think. Yeah, you're a good friend to me, bud,” Patrick answered. He was reminded of the words his mother had spoken to him all those months ago. _Who knows? Maybe you'll end up being best friends..._

 

Jonathan was quiet after that. The two of them spent the rest of the night watching TV, in some evangelical silence. It wasn't unpleasant.

 

-

 

“A toast, to the dumbest and most talented kids on the block!”

 

They had decided on an apartment, a real nice modern thing, two bedrooms and two bathrooms, a huge kitchen, and a nice balcony, situated on the top floor of the building. Patrick had suggested they visit it before any serious consideration, and Jonny had fallen head over heels the moment his big toe had crossed the threshold.

 

The obvious thing to do once they got it? A housewarming party, of course.

 

It hadn't been either of their ideas. Duncs had overheard in the locker room, and naturally, had scheduled a party for all the team to come over, have a few drinks, and relax.

 

Patrick had turned 21 a few months ago, so he didn't have to worry about ever getting caught with alcohol. That had never been a caution of his anyway. He had always had older friends, older teammates, to use as suppliers. Once he was of age, though, it was funny; he never drank frequently. Jonny, he noticed, was the same. 7 months older, and hardly ever had more than a can of Miller Lite in one sitting.

 

Patrick lifted his can and toasted his friends, and leaned back into the plush couch. Jonny was beside him. “How about it?” Patrick questioned. After a confused look from his counterpart, he said, “Never would've imagined this, huh?”

 

“Definitely not. You used to hate me.”

 

“Not _hate_ hate, I just, well, y'know...”

 

“Yeah. I know.”

A few hours passed, until it was just the two of them left, still seated on the couch, some basketball game on the TV. Patrick was exhausted, and he felt a bit woozy from the beer he had been drinking. It had been a while since he'd consumed more than five cans, and in front of him, the coffee table was littered with them. He could barely keep his eyes open. Jonny, on the other hand, seemed to be wide awake. When Patrick looked over at him, he had his eyes glued to the TV screen, following the players.

 

“Something wrong?” he said, noticing Patrick.

 

“No...how much you drink tonight?”

 

Jonathan though for a moment. “Eh, half a can of Heineken. I only drank it 'cause Seabs brought it, didn't wanna be rude.”

 

“Lightweight,” murmured Patrick softly, affectionate enough to make Jonny laugh.

 

“Pat, you drink more than any sad man I know.”

 

Patrick shut his eyes and let out a deep, low breath. “Ha. Maybe because I am one,” he commented, only half joking.

 

The squeaking of the basketball players' shoes on the TV filled the silence that followed. Patrick ran a hand through his hair, letting his words sink into Jonny's skin. It was true, that he felt desolate in the moments of his company; he was sitting right next to him and Patrick had felt alone the whole night. Empty, like some force had cleared him of feeling. He couldn't explain it. The team therapist couldn't explain it. There was no reason for Patrick to have depression, and yet, he would subtly slip his Prozac pills in his travel bag when they left town for a game.

 

“Do you want to talk?” Jonathan intoned.

 

“I wouldn't know how to put it into words, Jon.” Patrick's head hurt, and he was half-tempted to get up, grab a few Advils, and sleep. That would annoy Jonny, because once Jonny learned of a problem, he'd want to fix it.

 

“Try.”

 

Patrick rubbed his knees, knuckles white from the friction.

 

“Well, have you ever walked into the kitchen, prepared to eat your absolute favorite cereal, because your mom just bought it at the store and you see the box, all ready for you to grab and go at it?” When Jonathan nodded, holding back a laugh, he said, “And then, when you pick it up, it's empty? All your hopes and dreams gone,” Patrick snapped his fingers, “just like that?”

 

“Yeah, I guess. What's the point to this story, Pat?”

 

“Oh, right. That feeling of utter despair? It's a constant. I wake up every morning and no matter how many boxes of Lucky Charms I bought the night before, they're all gone. Every last piece.”

 

Before Jonathan could comment, Patrick swung his legs up and sat crisscross on the couch, facing him. He grabbed the remote and switched the TV off; Jonathan didn't protest. He turned his attention to Patrick.

 

“Jonny, do you love me?”

 

“I...”

 

“Honest to God. Do you?”

 

“Yeah. I... yeah, I do.”

 

Patrick shut his eyes. He felt his heart beating in his throat. “Why?” he asked.

 

“Aren't I supposed to?”

 

Suddenly annoyed, Patrick shook his head almost violently. A very confused Jonathan scooted back against the arm of the couch, trying to douse the heat of Patrick's stare.

 

“No. You're my soulmate. That doesn't _have_ to equate to love.”

 

“But I still love you,” Jonny choked. It was painful to hear that coming from his mouth. Each time he said that blessed 'L' word, Patrick's stomach screwed itself into knots and he felt like puking. Each time he gave Patrick that look of utter _hopelessness_ , it made him want to run away and hide.

 

“I love the way you don't care about how many people you piss off. Or how you can't acknowledge how talented you are. I love you for the stupidest things. The worst part is being around you all the time, because I can't express it unless we're like this, alone and you're drunk. But all that aside, I love you, even when I'm walking on this road that won't put me any closer to where I want to be.”

 

“How can you be okay with loving a dude?”

 

“I can be okay loving anyone. People are more than how they fuck. I love people based on how hard they can make me think, not how hard they get my fucking dick, Patrick.”

 

“I can't be gay. I think I'd be disowned.”

 

There were soft, quiet tears rolling down Jonny's cheeks. His breathing was ragged, harsh against what Patrick was used to hearing. Vulnerability was something he'd never expected from his captain. This man in front of him had been reduced to nothing—just like that.

 

“But can't you be human?”

 

Patrick's head spun. He shifted his eyes to the floor, knowing Jonny's tears must be flowing more rapid now. Why were things so complicated? He wanted to scream, and kick down this anti-closeness barrier he had built himself. Every time he tried, it would hurt him, and more importantly, it would hurt Jonny. What kind of sick, sadistic person got so much pleasure from causing so much pain? He kept himself glued together with fabricated lies, refusing to acknowledge the stark truth sitting right in front of him, right there on the couch.

 

“I've been kidding myself,” Patrick whispered, blinking back the wetness he felt under his eyelids.

 

“What..?”

 

“I'm an asshole.”

 

“No you're not, don't say--”

 

“I am!” he erupted, pounding his fists into his thighs. Jonny jumped. Patrick unclenched his fingers and stood, pacing the floor shakily, unsteadily, consistently running his hand through his hair.

 

“I _love_ you.”

 

“Don't say that. You don't mean it.”

 

“Jon,” a thought occurred to Patrick as he stood there, facing the wreck in front of him, “I am completely in love with you.”

 

Jonathan was shaking his head profusely.

 

“All my life, I'd always be the weak one. I'd hide from people, and I've had this fortress built up forever. And then one day, boom, everything is clear, because I saw you those few years ago, and it was like contemplating some internal kaleidoscope. You did this to me! You!”

 

He pointed in accusation, more so meaning to convey the affection pouring from his mind at the moment.

 

“You made me realize I can be strong without these walls. I took them down, brick by fucking brick, every word you've said to me, all the praise and all the scolding, you opened me up like a fucking book. I've been so blind...”

 

Patrick trailed off, and he'd forgotten to meet Jonny's eyes throughout the whole tirade. When he looked down at him, the tears had somewhat seceded, and there sat someone who wholeheartedly looked like he had never been missing any pieces. Patrick sank down to sit next to him, throwing his arms around Jonny's shoulders. He felt Jonny's hands wrap around him, comforting him, _acknowledging_ him. Patrick existed. He was loved, and he had no reason to be afraid of it.

 

Jonny was right there. He'd always been there. And in his eyes, nothing was wrong with him. He could never be too small, too insignificant, too weak.

 

Jonny loved him, and because of that, Patrick had learned to love himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed :)


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